


After the Fact

by gaygirlgenius



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Emotionally Repressed, Grief/Mourning, Hans is sad, Hans isn't over it, and everyone except him knows, max died a few years ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-03-09 03:50:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13473090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaygirlgenius/pseuds/gaygirlgenius
Summary: Only three people in this world understand what Hanschen is feeling. He isn't one of them. The people that matter most to Hanschen help him experience his emotions.





	1. Melchior Has No Tact

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't get this out of my head, so here ya go. Feedback is appreciated!

Hanschen Rilow made a decision a long time ago to stop caring. He did not realize that this decision only reflected just how much he cared. There were three people who recognized this: Melchior Gabor, Wendla Bergman, and Ernst Robel.  
The first to confront him is, of course, Melchior.  
They were smoking on Bobby Maler’s porch during the annual spring party. Muffled music muddled through the windows as the boys tried and failed to make smoke rings.  
“Aw shit I almost had it that time!”  
Hanschen breathed out a laugh.  
“Doesn’t count.”  
“Guess not, huh.”  
Hanschen didn’t say anything to this. He didn’t have to, and he knew that Melchior understood.  
“Hanschen.”  
Alright, maybe Melchior didn’t understand.  
“Melchior."  
“I think you’re like this on purpose.”  
Hanschen took another drag before saying, “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”  
“I can tell when you're lying.”  
Melchior had stopped talking and was staring at Hanschen, waiting for him to look back at him.  
“Fine, Melchior, tell me what I know,” Hanschen said, refusing to make eye contact.  
“Ever since he died, you’ve kept your distance from everybody. We’ve all noticed it.”  
Hanschen froze, staring at something only he could see.  
“Hans, we know that you’re feeling more than you want to tell us. Even I, the master of repressed feelings, know that’s not healthy.”  
Finally, Hanschen turned to Melchior.  
“Who the hell are you to tell me then? Why the fuck do you care?”  
Melchior rolled his eyes and said, “Because you won’t!”  
Hanschen stood and threw his cigarette onto the pavement before crushing it under his shoe. He stared Melchior down, eyes cold and tired.  
“Bring it up again, and I’ll make sure everyone knows about you and Moritz.”  
Melchior bit his cheek and stared up at the poor soul standing above him.  
“Point taken, asshole.”


	2. Wendla Makes Everyone Feel Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wendla invites Hanschen to help her prepare for a date, but she has an ulterior motive. She knows Hanschen better than he does, and she's not afraid to pull the truth out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short, but I just had to get it out there. Let me know what you think!

Wendla almost had more tact. She invited him to help her get ready for her first date with Ilse. They were sitting on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by discarded outfits. Hanschen was thinking about his first date, and Wendla could tell.  
“What did you two do?”  
Then there was a moment where Hanschen was suspended in between emotions. Was it rage or was it melancholy?  
“We--we went into town,” Hans swallowed, shocked at his own voice, raspy and quiet, “and just walked around, going into shops and messing around. It was nice.”  
“That sounds nice. I’m glad you two had a good time...”  
The “before you had to watch him die” was implied. Hanschen didn’t say anything.  
“It’s okay, you can cry if you want to ,” whispered Wendla.  
Hanschen was no longer suspended. The thought of crying cut the strings, and Hanschen’s gut crashed to earth.  
“I don’t need to cry, Wendla!”  
He was shaking, not looking at her, and barely breathing.  
“I don’t need to talk about this, I don’t want to talk about this! I’m sick of you, and Melchior, and Thea, and everybody acting like I’m made of glass! I’m fine! I’m--I’m fine.”  
His hands, unknowingly clenched into fists, suddenly loosened, and his head bowed.  
“Snap out of it, Hanschen.”  
Hanschen’s head whipped up to stare at Wendla in surprise.  
“Don’t look at me like that, and don’t yell at me,” she was speaking plainly, as though nothing was wrong, “I know you cared, and I know it hurts, and I know that you haven’t bothered to tell anyone what you’re feeling. Don’t call that strength, Hansy. I see right through you, and you’re hurting.”  
She looked through Hans resolutely.  
“You don’t have to say anything right now, Hanschen. Come here.”  
Wendla pulled Hanschen to her and let him rest, let him feel small for a moment.  
Later, he would claim that he didn’t cry, and Wendla wouldn’t say anything.


	3. Third was Ernst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanschen finally opens up to Ernst. They share a nice moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, any form of feedback is much appreciated!

Third was Ernst. Ernst, who had acted as a distant shadow for weeks before plucking up any courage to speak to Hanschen. Ernst, who had cautiously sipped wine in an attempt to impress. Ernst, who had blushed when Hanschen told him that he didn’t have to drink if he didn’t want to.

“I thought that that was the point of these parties...”

“The point is to enjoy yourself, Ernst,” Hanschen had said, rolling his eyes, “Put down that glass and find some soda or something.”

That was a long time ago.

Months later, Ernst approached Hanschen as he was trying to enjoy some of the shitty rosé that Melchior brought to the party.

“Don’t tell me Gabor convinced you to choke that down.”

Ernst sat down next to Hanschen on the couch. “Melchi didn’t convince me to do anything, Hanschen.”

“I never took you for the drinking type.”

Ernst smiled and looked down at his drink. “You didn’t use to be the drinking type either.”

The party buzzed on around them, but in Hanschen’s mind, everything went fuzzy—all senses reduced to static. He knew what Ernst was talking about. He didn’t want to think about what Ernst was talking about.

“Listen, Ernst—”

“I understand,” Ernst said while taking a drink, “I know what it’s like to lose.”

Hanschen stood and grabbed Ernst’s hand, dragging him to the front porch. Melchior was smoking on the steps—thankfully alone.

“Get inside, Gabor.”

Melchior looked them over, his eyes spending a long time on the boys’ still-connected hands, then brushed past Hanschen and whispered, “nice”.

“Sit with me, Ernst.”

Ernst, gangly as he was, awkwardly sat on the steps with Hanschen, too aware of how his limbs were folding. He stared at Hanschen expectantly.

“When did you become a drinker?” Hanschen asked.

There seemed to be no better option than honesty, so Ernst responded in truth, “After I was outed.”

“What was it like?”

“Like someone took something that wasn’t theirs. I wasn’t ready because I didn’t think the world was. I guess Bobby proved me right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. Ilse keyed his car.”

This made Hanschen laugh. Ernst smiled too.

“Well, it’s no secret why I drink,” Hanschen said, a phantom smile at the corner of his mouth, “I’m the poor soul with a dead boyfriend. That’s all they want me to be.”

“That’s not true.”

“Ernst, don’t lie to me.”

“I wouldn’t—I—all I want is for you to be okay again. Not sad and not perfect. Just okay.”

Hanschen didn’t say anything.

“Hanschen, if you aren’t going to talk to me—” Ernst started to stand, but Hanschen pulled on his sweater.

“That’s the thing. Everyone knows the story, and everyone seems to know how I feel about it, but...I don’t even know how I feel about it. It hurts, but I should be over by now, shouldn’t I?”

Ernst had sat down again and held Hanschen’s hand in his. “You don’t ever have to be over it. You loved him, and you can’t stop loving him even if he’s gone.”

Hanschen supposed that Ernst was right. He also supposed that the feelings he had for Ernst were the closest he’s been to a crush since Max had died. Everything was confusing and too loud and too quiet and at the same time not enough to spur forth the dormant emotions in the pit of Hanschen’s stomach. He leaned against Ernst, who stayed still, waiting for Hanschen to say something fierce and biting.

“I did love him. With everything I had. Now he’s gone and it feels like I died with him. It’s been months and he’s still making me feel this way. I’m such an idiot...”

Ernst had never heard such soft and broken words escape this boy’s lips.

“Hanschen...that’s completely normal.”

Hanschen sniffed.

“Imagine that.”


End file.
